


if the sea allows

by jayeinacross



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Merrow, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5470235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayeinacross/pseuds/jayeinacross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kasamatsu has eyes the colour of storm seas, the kind that humans hate because it means rain and waves too rough for them, but Kise gets caught in them all the time.</p><p>A selkie/merrow AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if the sea allows

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from Talis Kimberly's song "Still Catch the Tide": http://www.talis.net/songs/stillcatchthetide

Yukio remembers holding his head above the waves, searching for his father's figure standing on the shore. His mother nudging him onto the beach, helping him out of his skin. Toes digging into the sand, knees wobbling. His father holding him by the hands, helping him balance. Brief visits to land every few weeks, his mother sneaking him away while the rest of the herd sleeps.

When nobody else is listening, his mother tells him more about his father, too -- filling the gaps in between the short times they have on the beach together. Yukio has always known what makes him different. The herd know too, but his mother whispers to him when they're above the water never to tell them about their trips to the surface. He's young enough that he doesnt quite understand, but he listens.

They find out anyway.

He doesn't know exactly how they did. He just knows that his mother took him away from the herd, up onto the sand, and they never went back.

Yukio's father finds them on the shore and takes them to his house, close enough that the ocean is visible from the kitchen window. He's never been in a house before. Wooden floorboards are more solid ground than sand, but slippers make it even harder to walk on legs that dont really know how to stand.

His mother stands at the window and stares, mesmerised, at the waves. When she isn't there to pick him up and hold him, Yukio tries to pull himself up onto the counter to peer out as well. He's never seen the water like this before, from so far away.

They don't stay in that house for long. His father finds the two of them like that a few too many times, so they pack up the seaside house and leave -- they don't go too far, but just far enough. Far enough that his selkie wife and son won't be caught by the ocean's torturous pull, because the very sight of the sun setting over the water makes them ache.

~

It's easier once the sea is out of sight, and Yukio's mother gets entranced with the eyes of his father again instead. She puts their skins away where they wont be seen, a reminder of the life she chose to leave behind for other things. Better things.

They teach Yukio how to walk together -- his mother understands what it's like, remembers the difficulties of going from swimming to running, and his father has been walking all his life and knows how to stay grounded and stand straight up. The sparse practice he's had before helps, and he's quick to adapt, but it's clumsy.

"You'll get better," his father assures him. "It always takes time."

Yukio could out-swim all the other children even in human form, but he takes far longer to learn to balance on his legs like they already know how to. He watches them run, dribbling a basketball between them, jumping--

"Do you want to learn to play?" His mother asks when she notices the way he looks at the kids on the street.

"Can I?"

"Of course," she says, and calls his father over.

He brings a basketball home the next day, saying, "I used to play too, you know, when I was younger. Do you want me to teach you? Maybe then you can go play with the others."

Yukio nods, and his father teaches him the rules, the forms. He doesn't want to play with the other kids until he knows he can do it right, so he practices and practices at home until he's confident enough to take his basketball outside and show it to the kids on the street. They're a bit wary at first -- he and his family came out of nowhere, and nobody knows who they are -- but they agree to let him play.

"Wow," one boy says, eyes wide. "You're _fast!_ "

"Yeah," Yukio says, proud. "But I'll get faster."

~

His brothers are so tiny when they're born, delicate-looking pups. In between school and playing on the local junior basketball team, he helps his parents look after him. When they get bigger, they stumble on their shaky legs like Yukio did when he first came to land. They start to walk, and it's so much easier for them to learn, solid ground underneath their feet since they were born, and Yukio's a little jealous watching and remembering how hard it was for him at first. But he can swim _and_ run better than them now anyway, so it doesnt really matter.

When his mother sings, it's so sweet that everyone stops still to listen. The twins quiet down, the neighbours pause in their gardens when the sound drifts over the fence, and Yukio's father tells him that he first fell in love with her the moment he heard her voice. 

She always sings about the sea. Telling stories to her boys of salt water swimming, life with the herd, the freedom out in the ocean. She hides nothing from them, except their skins -- those will be kept away until they're old enough to decide for themselves what to do with them.

"One day you''ll know what you want," she tells Yukio, the twins too young yet for this conversation. She has already made her choice. Yukio understands, even at fourteen. At fourteen, he thinks he'll go back one day. He can wait for now, but the sea is where he was born, where he belongs.

He has no idea how much will change in four years.

Yukio doesn't really have his mother's voice, but he does have a sense of the notes, the melody. He remembers the way the whales sing, and his mother smiles when she hears the strumming of his guitar's strings.

His mother's song is always full of longing, but music makes him miss the sea a little less. He'd never have had the feeling of strings underneath his fingers out in the ocean, after all.

~

Going into high school, Yukio isn't entirely sure what he wants -- but Kaijou High is only a short train ride away, the school has a good reputation, and a strong sports program.

"The blue would suit you," his mother smiles, looking at the photographs of the basketball team in the pamphlet he's brought home.

The school is alive and bustling on the first day, students everywhere clamouring for new first year members for their own clubs, but Yukio already knows which one he wants to join. He'd rather keep music for himself and his family. Basketball is how he learned to connect with the world around him.

When he lines up in the gym with the other first years, he's amazed and a little intimidated. There are so many other players -- its not surprising, given Kaijou's reputation for excellence in all kinds of sports -- and the captain that addresses them seems so tall and powerful. Yukio's far from the tallest guy in the room, and standing next to everyone else he's really starting to feel the height difference. But he knows he can prove himself once they get on the court, once everyone can see his speed and his skill with the ball. And they do notice him, the coach and the captain, but he knows he still has a long way to go.

The atmosphere at Kaijou excites him; there's something in the air in that gym. Raw talent all around them, confidence, the determination to win, to climb -- things that they all share.

"I'm proud of you," his father tells him when he gets home and they're talking about the team. "I've got something for you."

He fetches a small box, gives it to his son. Yukio opens it, a little confused.

"When I was talking to your coach at your middle school, he said that something like this might help you. The fatigue in your legs, the strained muscles, you know."

The sleeves are plain black, and when Yukio slides them on they fit snugly around his calf, stretching from his ankle to just under his knee.

"Thanks, Dad."

He's not sure whether they actually work the way they're supposed to, and at first he's a little concerned about drawing too much attention to himself. When he starts wearing them at practice, everyone notices but nobody really mentions it; he supposes that they all understand what they're for. Soon enough he's more comfortable in them than out when he's on the court, and he grows to like the distinctive look. People notice him because of them, but they remember him because of what he can do.

~

Three years later and sliding the calf sleeves on before his socks and shoes is still the most comforting part of Yukio's routine. He's not unprepared, but he still remembers his own first day so clearly. Looking up at the captain then, he'd never thought that he'd be in the same position now. He's had time -- known since after that game during the Winter Cup, since Coach gave him this _responsibility_ that he wasnt so sure he deserved -- but even since saying goodbye to the last third years it hasn't felt quite real.

Now, Yukio's got the first years all lined up in front of him, and it's not as jarring as he'd expected. He slips into the role a little easier than he thought he would; trust Coach Takeuchi to understand how this would work out.

Getting to the end of the long line of hopefuls, he looks up and for the briefest moment he hesitates and his words freeze on his tongue.

Eyes like sunlight on sand, like light reflecting off the water at sunrise.

Yukio clears his throat. "Name, middle school, position played?"

He forgets about that moment later, irritation at Kise's attitude overriding that split second where he forgot what was happening around him. But even distracted for a while by a cocky first year who doesn't know his place, the feeling still persists. It happens slowly but surely, inevitably -- like realising how high the tide has risen, taken by surprise even though you've been watching it the whole time.

Kise's overflowing with talent that he doesn't know how to control just yet. The rumours about the Generation of Miracles are true: players with incredible skill, indescribable talent. But Kise needs a captain, someone to keep him grounded when he's in danger of being swept away, and Yukio is there.

He's been playing basketball for years now, and he's always worked on his speed, moving faster and faster until his legs are straining. But playing with Kise feels like something entirely different. He's not struggling to keep up with Kise, he's being swept along with him -- he's riding the wave.

~

Kasamatsu has eyes the colour of storm seas, the kind that humans hate because it means rain and waves too rough for them, but Ryouta gets caught in them all the time. Always looking so serious, his gaze so intense even when he's smiling, and it makes it hard to look away.

Maybe thats why Kasamatsu reminds him so much of the ocean. There's something about him that just draws Ryouta in, the way the waves will entrance anyone looking out over the water.

When they're alone in the gym after practice, breathing hard, only inches away from each other, Ryouta still can't look away until he closes their eyes when they kiss. After that, he just falls into the _feeling_ of Kasamatsu -- soft lips, hard jaw line, hands on his waist pulling them closer together.

"Kise," says Kasamatsu, breathless, when he manages to pull away for a moment. Ryouta knows what he's going to say, and he doesn't want to hear it.

Kasamatsu's hesitating, but he's still holding Ryouta close, still has his face tilted up to kiss him, even as he tries to deny what's happening. Too afraid that given a moment to think about what they're doing Kasamatsu might convince himself to stop, Ryouta doesn't say anything, just kisses him again. Sweat like salt on his neck, and Kasamatsu arches into the scrape of his teeth, clutching at the back of Ryouta's jersey.

It works, distracting them both from any doubts that might make them pause. They have something that they can't hold back, something more than teamwork and more than basketball. It's impossible to ignore that connection when it's drawing them closer like this, further from being able to stop.

~

Kasamatsu sneaks up on Ryouta like a wave that looked small until it was rushing over his head.

It takes a while for Ryouta to realise just why he's so drawn to Kasamatsu. He's captivating when he's sprinting down the court, sure, and gorgeous splayed out on Ryoutas bed, but it's more than that. It's more than the way he knows exactly what to say to his team during a game and having faith that he will catch any pass Ryouta sends to him, more than how he can turn Ryouta into a mess just with words and knowing every touch will take his breath away.

He doesn't know what it is, but he knows he can't let it go.

Life on land never really appealed to him until basketball. Ryouta's parents had their stint on land and then went back to the sea, like merrow often do, returning home once their children were old enough to fend for themselves. His sisters chose to stay on and so did he, to his family's surprise -- he'd always been bored as a child, restless. But since Teiko, basketball has been a priority. Since Aomine, it has been a passion.

Since Kaijou, it has become something different.

Kasamatsu has become something different. Not just a captain, and not just a fling -- not that Ryouta ever considered him that. How could he even pretend that's what this is, when Kasamatsu is asleep in his bed like he has been half a dozen times before? Maybe if he didn't wake up in the morning with Kasamatsu's arms wrapped around him -- maybe if he wasn't so tempted by sleepy murmurs about staying in bed for just another few more minutes, another half-hour.

They have plenty of early starts for practices and games and Kasamatsu is always strict about their training schedule, so its surprising that he's like this in the mornings, but if it gets him a little more time with him, then Ryouta won't complain.

~

With his parents absent, Ryouta's eldest sister is his legal guardian, although she's travelling constantly for work. He's independent enough to look after himself, but she still visits whenever she can, often without warning, but that's never been a problem until now.

"I have to get ready for practice soon," he tells her, his bedroom door firmly closed.

She raises an eyebrow. "On a Sunday?"

"We have games coming up." It's true that the preliminaries for the Inter-High are coming up, but training wasn't really on his agenda for the day. "I didn't know you were coming back."

"I had a day off. I'll have to leave again tonight, but I figured I'd come and see you while I had the time." He feels self-conscious with her looking at him so carefully, taking in his messy hair and ruffled clothes. "Unless you're too busy."

"No, no, I'll meet you after practice, okay?"

"All right, I'll come back later." She casts a glance down the hallway to his room with the door still shut, quick but deliberate, and picks up her bag. "That captain of yours must be a good one. Have a good practice."

Kasamatsu's woken up by the time that she's gone, sitting on the edge of the bed, still shirtless. He doesnt even know what he does to Ryouta, not comfortable enough in his own body to realise how the sight of him can still make Ryouta stop and stare.

"I was beginning to think that your family didn't actually exist," Kasamatsu says.

Ryouta laughs a little. "No, they just live far away."

Further than Kasamatsu could imagine, anyway.

At lunch with his sister, Ryouta asks her out of the blue, "What would you do if you ever fell in love with a human?"

"Well," she says slowly, not surprised at the question, but careful with her words. "I suppose that I would have to think about making a choice."

~

While they're away for the Interhigh they dont have much time for themselves, but they make do with what they can get. After dinner the night before their first game, Moriyama shoots them a sly look as he heads to the room that Ryouta is supposed to be sharing with Hayakawa. They won't risk drawing too much attention to themselves, but even Kasamatsu concedes that if they have to endure Moriyama's thinly-veiled encouragement anyway, they might as well make the most of the opportunity.

Kasamatsu ends up pushing his fingers into Ryouta's mouth trying to keep him quiet; they've grown too used to the privacy of his empty home. Ryouta is arching his back, clutching at his hips, begging for him to just--

"We have to play tomorrow," Kasamatsu warns him. "You have to be careful."

"You always take care of me," Ryouta says, but Kasamatsu still won't fuck him. Instead, he eats him out, letting Ryouta whimper into the pillow and grind his cock against the sheets.

When Kasamatsu turns him over he's shaking, falling apart with every touch. He can't help the way his hips jerk up when Kasamatsu finally touches him, whimpers falling out of his mouth until Kasamatsu kisses him quiet. Ryouta cries out against his lips as he comes all over himself, body too loose and relaxed to move afterwards. Kasamatsu lies next to him, brushing his long hair out of his eyes, murmuring, "Are you okay?"

Ryouta laughs unsteadily at that, but he doesn't let the ache of his body keep him still for long; Kasamatsu is hard as well and Ryouta is eager to return the favour.

Kasamatsu forgets himself for a moment and moans loudly when Ryouta goes down on him, threading his fingers into his hair and tugging. _"Fuck."_

Ryouta falls asleep fast and easy that night, Kasamatsu's warm breath on his neck, the sound of waves crashing on the beach ringing in his head.

~

They're riding high on the thrill of winning, stealing kisses in empty hotel corridors after games, so tired from the intense days that it doesnt even matter that they're not in the same room. The team sweeps through their block and its not _easy_ , but Ryouta was always confident that they would. It's what everyone excepts of a Kaijou team and they don't disappoint, building up a momentum that carries them through to the quarter-finals, a relentless flood against one opponent after another.

This night is different. The thought of Aomine has been burning in the back of Ryouta's mind since the beginning of the Interhigh, since seeing the brackets for the first time and honing in on _Touou Academy_ in the adjacent block. It was always a given that they would advance this far too. They were always going to have to play Touou.

"Are you thinking about him?"

Ryouta knows that there's little point in denying it. Kasamatsu can always read him so easily. "Sometimes I'm not sure if I could beat him."

"It's not just you anymore. You have the rest of us now."

"I know." Ryouta leans into Kasamatsu's side, linking their fingers together. He wants to win, but he wants more than that -- he's always wanted more than that, even if he didn't realise it before, at Teiko where victory was everything and losing was never an option. Winning isn't what's keeping him on land.

Ryouta watches from the floor as Aomine walks away from him and he falls apart like a wave breaking on the rocks. His legs are failing him now; he wasnt made for this, after all.

Kasamatsu is there to help him up, hold him up, the rest of the team behind them. Ryouta doesn't know how so much can change and yet feel like nothing has at all. Winning isn't everything, but it doesn't matter anyway, because they didn't, and Aomine won't even look at him.

The long ride home is quiet. Ryouta knows that pain isn't his alone; everyone's silence speaks for that. Kasamatsu especially, who tells them all what they need to hear and bears the weight of everything they won't say.

At some point, Ryouta falls asleep and dreams of home until Kasamatsu wakes him, shaking his shoulder gently. "We're here, Kise."

There are a few parents waiting outside, and Ryouta has never met Kasamatsu's parents before, but they're easy to pick. His dark hair and strong jaw must come from his father, and his mother--

~

His mother smiles when she sees Yukio, the corners of her blue eyes crinkling. Then her gaze slides over to Kise next to him, and she stops still. Kise stares right back at her and Yukio and his father are left looking between the two of them, confused, as the rest of the team files fast them.

"What's--" Yukio's voice seems to shake his mother back into focus, finally tearing her eyes away from Kise.

Kise turns away abruptly, walking towards the coach before Yukio can say anything. As Yukio leaves with his parents, every time he glances behind him all he sees is Kise's back, that familiar blue retreating. 

He's left confused until they get home and his father occupies himself with the twins while his mother takes him outside and sits him down on the porch.

"What's going on?"

"That friend of yours, Kise." Yukio's talked about Kise enough that he's not surprised that she'd recognised him, but he doesn't understand her reaction -- or _Kise's_ reaction. "Do you know where he comes from?"

Yukio blinks. "I don't understand."

She explains it to him gently, like she's afraid it will break him. He thinks that maybe it has.

Meeting Kise calmed the ache he'd had inside of him since they left the sea and replaced it with another kind of longing, one that Yukio didn't mind because it could be sated with the touch of fingers on his cheek, soft kisses pressed against his mouth, the sound of Kise's laughter.

Yukio grew up missing the sea. There's no real reason to be go back now; he knows that there's nothing there for him except the sea itself, and there's too much to live for on land. He still misses it. Always afraid to step beyond the shore in case he never comes back, he's always reasoned to himself that at least a human could never steal his skin, not when he's chosen to give it up himself.

He's so _stupid_.

Kise belongs to the ocean, to the waves and the water. Yukio couldn't have known, but maybe he should have. After all, longing for the sea doesn't go away because of one human boy.

~

Holding his phone to his ear, Yukio feels the fear rise in his chest as it rings. What if he doesn't pick up? What if he _does?_

In the end, all he gets is Kise's cheerful message playing, one he's heard dozens of times -- every time he'd called when Kise was in the shower, eating dinner; every time he was returning a call and they just kept...missing each other. Yukio puts his phone down until he needs to hear that voice again, even when it's not saying what he needs to hear, answering the questions he has no way of asking.

_Did you know?_

Yukio remembers everything his mother ever told him about merrow: they come and go as they please, but they always, always return to the sea.

She warned him about humans, about skins held hostage up and beyond the beach, not far from the water, but far enough. Selkies always learn that early, taught not to trust, because even selkies can drown with human lungs.

She never said that it was the sea and its children that would ruin him.

Sometimes he can see straight through Kise, and sometimes he remains a mystery -- but one that Yukio always thought he had time to unravel.

Now, Kise won't pick up the phone, the long strings of texts have stopped since the morning they lost to Touou, and Yukio can't bear the silence anymore. The silence alone would be unnerving coming from Kise. It's everything else that makes it hurt like this, knowing that it was the sea all along.

Yukio wishes it had just been basketball. Then it's something he chose, instead of something running through his veins. Then it's just about how amazing Kise was on the court the first time Yukio saw him play, stunned by the way he could move like that, seeing and understanding every move that was put against him.

Kise is the pull of the sea itself, tempting him to dive under the waves again like his decision to stay away never even meant anything.

It would have been better if it was basketball.

~

It's only a few days before Kise resurfaces, but to Yukio it feels like forever; maybe because he thought it was. Kise shows up at school for practice like always, but everything has changed -- the air around them is too thick with everything they know and so many things that they don't; tension that everyone in the room can feel but no one else understands. Yukio's afraid that Kise will leave right after practice is over, disappearing silently like sea foam but he doesnt, just waits until everyone else is gone.

They're left standing in the place they first met, alone like the first time they kissed, and Yukio finally gets to ask the question that he needs the answer to most. "Did you know?"

Kise laughs, disbelieving. "I never even thought that a selkie boy could move on land like you do."

Yukio could say the same thing about Kise; he could say so many things about Kise. But the only thing he's thinking about in this moment is that Kise didn't know, about how if he had known then everything would be different, but he didn't.

"I didnt know either. I never even thought..."

"That's because you've never seen me swim," Kise says, cheekily, but they both know it's true.

Yukio doesnt swim much. He tries to keep away from the water because it makes him miss what he barely even had to begin with, but has carried with him all his life  in his blood, his veins, his heart. Never in the ocean, because hes afraid of losing himself out at sea, willingly, unable to make himself return. And sparingly, only when he's had to. But no matter how long he goes without it, every time he returns to the water it's like he never left; he outshines the best swimmers in school without needing to practice, because that's what he was made for. His body is strong from basketball, but his swimming comes from his mother.

Still, he doubts he could keep up with Kise in the water. It's not the worst thing in the world. He's played with Kise so much that he knows that comparisons are useless; being on the court with him is enough. Maybe basketball can be enough.

Kise didn't know that Yukio was a selkie, born in the ocean but living on land, maybe for the rest of his life. He knows now, but he didn't run.

"You're still here," Yukio says.

"Of course," Kise replies. "Where else would I be?"

~

"I still know you," Kise says.

And he does. He knows just the right way to press Yukio into the mattress, how to make him clutch at the sheets and at Kise's hair, and how to get him to lose control of his tongue and cry out into the empty house.

Kise knows just the right way to make him smile into a kiss; what silly remarks will make him groan or laugh or bring out that quiet grin. He knows the incredible focus that Yukio has, whether it's on the court pulling the team together or learning the bridge to a new song or turning the tables on Kise and going down on him with such a single-minded determination that there's little choice other than to lie back and try not to drown in the pleasure of it.

Yukio brings him close so fast, but pulls away before he can come. He's learned to read how Kise's voice rises with his hips, how his fingers feel uselessly for the edges of the mattress, his grip tightening and loosening rapidly as his breathing quickens and his whole body tenses.

"Please," Kise says in between wet kisses, shaking underneath Yukios firm hands. "I just--I want _you_."

"What do you want me to do?" He already knows, of course; Kise's never subtle about what he wants, and they both have the same thing in mind. But Yukio likes to hear the words out loud, hear him say it, and Kise knows that, too.

So Kise says it, and says it again when hes pushing down onto Yukios fingers, when he can't take the teasing anymore: "Fuck me, Kasamatsu, please fuck me."

Yukio doesnt wait any longer than that. 

If there was a way to keep Kise so close to him forever, Yukio would be tempted to take it. For the first time, he thinks he might understand why humans have a history of hiding the skins of selkies they love. But Kise is more than just a temptation, and more than the sea.

"I'm not going anywhere," Kise tells him, and Yukio believes it.

~

Maybe it was some strange essence of the sea that he saw in Kise's eyes the first time they met that drew Yukio to him, but maybe he just sees the ocean in everything: the glow of its shore under the sunlight in Kise's eyes, its depth in the longing of his mother's gaze, its never ending movement in the way he feels when he's running across the court.

He can't stand by the river without wishing it would carry him out to sea. He can tell that his mother feels the same way -- it's there in her eyes, in her song, even after all this time. But she still stays. It can't make her go back to it. His brothers watch the water, fascinated, and they can play and splash in it for hours. But it has never occurred to them to go; memories of living in the sea just don't exist for them. Maybe when they're older and understand better, when they hold their skins and know what it really feels like not to be completely human, but a part of the sea -- maybe then they will make that decision themselves. 

They, at least, don't have to feel the fear that Yukio always has. That blinding fear that he's feeling again right now, stronger than ever, as his mother gives him the key to the box in the back of her closet.

What is there for him out at sea? No mother, no father, no brothers. No basketball, no team, no Kise. Thirteen years of inexplicable longing and it all comes down to the skin in his hands, all he needs to go back. The thing is, though: he's never been tempted to just take it. Never has he considered stealing the key, breaking the lock, taking this part of him back. Now, for the first time, he thinks he understands. He doesn't need it.

His seal-skin can stay locked away like it has been the past thirteen years. It's not something that he would ever discard or give away -- the sea is still a part of him, but it doesn't own him.

When he found out what Kise was, Yukio had been afraid that he would lose him to the ocean someday, but merrow can make their own choices just as selkies can, and Kise chose to stay, long before he met Yukio. They might both come from the ocean, but they both belong to basketball just as much as they do the sea. The longing may never fade entirely, but that doesn't mean that land and everything on it isn't worth it.


End file.
